


Keys to the Heart

by jelazakazone



Series: Mordred fics [17]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, F/M, M/M, Multi, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1897704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/pseuds/jelazakazone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is "snippets" from what was an attempt at a Big Bang.  I will try to connect them at the top of the chapters in the notes sections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of people tried to help me with this and in the end, things just didn't work out. This is the fic of my heart and I feel like I need to get it out even though there are missing scenes. I was inspired to write this because I wanted a different ending for Mordred. I needed a different ending for him. And Arthur. And Merlin. All errors are mine.

“You should not have killed my friend!”  
  
The angry voice rang in her head, pushing her over the edge. Fear and anger ballooned inside her as she realized she could not counter the powerful blast coming her way. Nimueh was the most powerful sorceress in the land and she was going to explode. Full of desperation, she reached with her magic for the Cup of Life, uncertain of what would happen, but hopeful nonetheless. She knew that using the cup to save her life meant risking a life somewhere, someday, but she could not die yet. All these thoughts and feelings flashed through her mind in the briefest instant, just before Merlin reduced her to her elements.   
  
The Old Religion took good care of its priestesses, and Nimueh was the highest priestess to ever have served. Inchoate, unaware, she floated outside of time, able to touch any point of time. She had never existed and yet, she was eternal. She was vast and infinitesimal. Nimueh felt no urgency to return; she knew that when the time was right, she would be reborn.


	2. Nimueh Enters the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some time has passed and Mordred has been born and been to Camelot.

Torn from her incorporeal existence, wet, naked, and disoriented, Nimueh quivered on the cold ground close to the lake’s edge. She inhaled, a shuddering breath, her whole body shaking from the unaccustomed action. Exhaling, a cry exploded from her as if she were a newborn babe. She could not stop herself from taking another breath and another, pain and pleasure woven together, gasping on the ground until her lungs caught the rhythm.   
  
Sensation overwhelmed her, cool rain misting on her new skin, the smell of earth filling her nostrils, the soft sounds of animals chirping and scuttling around in the nearby trees. Light pricking at her eyes and she tasted salt on her tongue.  
  
Power surged through her, heightening all of her senses and impulses. Hunger drove her to her feet. She stumbled at first, disoriented and unused to a physical body, but compelled to satisfy her needs. Acute eyes spotted darting glints in the shallow water and from a combination of curiosity and impatience, she splashed into the water, slicing her hands under the disturbed surface.  
  
All was chaos. Water sprayed up, momentarily covering her eyes and filling her mouth. The cool water soothed something in her and she bent over, sucking more liquid in, savoring the pleasure of water trickling down her throat, branching out into her body, filling her with vitality she hadn’t known she was lacking.   
  
She stood still, chest heaving, but the distraction didn’t last long. In the calm, the fish had returned. Again, she plunged a hand below the glassy surface, frightening the fish away, but the pain in her belly drove her to keep trying. Impulses she did not try to control bent her hand to the water again and again. She reached for the magic that throbbed in her body and let it loose. Unconstrained, it sent a geyser of water up, dousing her and throwing fish high in the air.   
  
Exhausted, Nimueh waded back to the shore and collapsed, feet still in the water. A wriggling motion under her hand caught her attention and she looked down, amazed, to discover that the answer to this problem had been within her grasp the whole time. The fish under her hand was a short distance from the water, but far enough that it hadn’t been able to flip back in. With a trembling hand she brought the fish to her lips and tore into it with sharp teeth, the tang of blood filling her mouth though the fish was cold.  
  
Energy sang through her, revitalizing her. She laughed out loud and devoured the fish and then another. Belly full, she fell back onto the ground. Sunlight had burned through the misty morning and it now bore down upon her, heating her as well. She lazed in the warmth of it, relishing the sensation of sun warmed flesh as she ran her hands over her body.   
  
Touching her own skin ignited another appetite in her as she caressed her arms and neck. She rubbed circles on her chest, luxuriating in the tingling sensation left behind as her fingers passed over her nipples. A throbbing between her legs drew her hands to the tender folds there, which she parted and stroked, finding a timing that intensified her bliss. She spread her knees, rocking her hips and working her wet flesh until she convulsed with spasms of pleasure.   
  
Relaxed, appetites sated, she drifted between waking and sleeping, a state not unlike the state she’d just recently emerged from, but this time, an earthly body anchored her and when she woke, she was ravenous again.  
  
  
****  
  
Time passed without Nimueh marking it. She ate when she was hungry, slept when she was tired, and pleasured herself when the desire arose. She explored her environs and her relationship with it.   
  
The lake and forest provided for all of Nimueh’s needs — food, water, shelter, and companionship. Some days the forest called to her, and she would walk amongst trees with gnarled roots that whispered of a long peaceful existence. Some days, the cool liquid of the lake beckoned and she would immerse herself, magic mingling with drops of water that told tales of a time before human memory.   
  
The animals communicated with her. Fish, squirrels, birds — each had something to say, but mostly they spoke of hunger or danger, subjects which seemed to have little bearing on her current situation. Memories of existence before she’d been spat out of the ether were dim. Her magic was familiar, of course, but of the rest, she lacked the motivation to dredge up particulars. As far as she could tell, there was little relevance anyway.   
  
She did not miss the company of men, a feeling which solidified further when she started having dreams of a beautiful woman with honey gold hair, whose laughter sent tingles up her spine and whose kisses tasted of lush fruit that melted her insides. Igraine. This woman had been her heart’s delight: the sunshine to her moonlight.   
  
Then there were dreams of a man. At first, his fire excited her, lured her in, but she came to understand that he was stiff as iron with a smile full of shark’s teeth.   
  
Nimueh puzzled through these shards of dreams as she walked through the forest. Igraine always made her feel happy, content, completed, but then Uther would enter and it were as though someone had stabbed her right in the middle of her heart. She would pull at her hair in frustration or roar at the heavens, loosing some magic but stopping herself just before the point of doing harm. It was not in her nature to take another’s life.  
  
Uther must be the key, somehow, but try as she might, she could not bring enough memories to the fore to complete the puzzle.  
  
Although she had woken in the form of a woman, she gradually came to find that her needs were greatly reduced if she took on the form of a young girl. So, when the day came that a man found her while she was bent over, collecting berries, he called out, “Hello? Are you all right, miss?”   
  
The voice was low and soothing, pleasant with a tinge of curiosity. Nimueh wanted to respond, but had been apart from people too long. Words stopped in her throat, threatening to choke her.   
  
She turned and saw the man, robed in a cloak of deepest green. She had to look up to see his face, which was almost hidden by the folds of heavy cloth covering his head. Pushing the hood back revealed a face with wrinkles and creases, marked by loss and the weight of responsibility.   
  
At last she nodded to him, understanding that some response was necessary.   
  
“Well, that is some relief then. I’ve had too much weight on my shoulders of late, but nevermind, that is not your concern.”  
  
He had been working his cloak loose and now held it out to her, offering it to her.  
  
“Would you like to wear this? I think you might be cold without any clothing.”  
  
Nimueh had not taken any notice of the elements before this man had appeared. Somehow she’d been completely comfortable before, but now that he mentioned it, she realized that she was indeed cold. She took the covering gratefully, drawing it over herself.  
  
She staggered as memories came pounding back, full force. Igraine had been her lover, her sister in magic, her companion in delight. Then Igraine met Uther. She fell for him instantly and brought him to Nimueh, thinking the three could make a sacred trio. For a while, it seemed to work. Nimueh loved both Igraine and Uther, Igraine loved both Nimueh and Uther, but it was possible that Uther had never loved Nimueh. In retrospect, Nimueh thought this all too entirely likely.  
  
Uther. Uther had wanted to possess people and things. He wanted people to do his bidding. He would bend the world to his bidding and damn anything that got in his way. When Nimueh refused to come to Camelot to be his personal sorceress, he took Igraine away.   
  
When Igraine came to her in tears, sobbing that her life was over because she could not produce an heir for Uther, she helped Igraine catch the seed that would bear Uther’s son. Her heart rose in triumph when the son was born, but when Igraine’s life drained out of her as her newborn babe howled, she wept bitterly, mourning the loss of her spirit sister.   
  
In that moment, at Igraine’s bedside, Uther had demanded that Nimueh bring her back. She did not know if it was madness or grief that provoked his command.   
  
Drained of vigor and knowing the limits of the Old Religion, she had said, “She died giving birth to your son. It was not my choice. That is the law of magic. To create a life, there had to be a death. The balance of the world had to be repaid.”  
  
“You knew it would kill her.”  
  
“No, you're wrong. If I had foreseen her death, and the terrible retribution you would seek... I would never have granted your wish.”  
  
With this last scrap of memory, consciousness fled.  
  
The smell of cooking food woke her. Still dazed, she lay still, trying to work out where she was,  _who_  she was. The ground beneath her was cold and something was poking into her back. Then she remembered. Old memories had come back, racing through her mind, drowning her in their power, but something felt out of place. Head throbbing, she struggled to raise herself on her elbows. Looking down towards her feet, which were smaller than she’d remembered, she realized the view was unobstructed. She had no breasts.  
  
“Oh, I see you’ve awakened.”  
  
Disoriented, she turned her head towards the voice, seeing the man who’d given her his cloak. She attempted a smile, but was unsure what exactly she conveyed because the man came rushing over to her.   
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
She sat slowly, raising a hand to her head and noticed the man wince as she did so.  
  
“I’m sorry. You hit your head when you passed out. I wasn’t able to catch you in time. It happened so fast. Here, I have some willow bark tea that should numb some of the pain.”  
  
He helped her sit up and wrap her hands around the drinking vessel, keeping a guiding hand on hers. Rough skin was no barrier to the heat that passed from his skin to hers. Her cheeks flushed and she became aware of deeper desires, but with her memories returned and the awareness that she was now quite young, she now had a modicum of restraint.  
  
She sipped the tea, savoring its warmth. She focused on the path it traveled inside her until she could sense it no more. Again, she sipped and followed the path, hoping to ease the pain in her head as well as the pain in her heart.  
  
“Young miss, my name is Iseldir. You seem troubled.”   
  
She looked into a face wrinkled with concern and tried not to laugh bitterly.  
  
“I have a suggestion for you. Come to the druid camp with me. You will be safe there and we have many healers who can help you.”  
  
Nimueh could sense the honesty in his proposal, but could not summon the words to communicate with him. She had been apart from people too long. She had a profound feeling of good will from this person and did not resist when he helped her to stand.  
  
The rough fabric provided welcome cover. Her teeth stopped chattering and her shivering all but vanished as she walked barefoot over the rough terrain towards the cookfire. The man saw her wincing as she stepped on a sharp rock.  
  
“Come, sit here on this root. I do not have extra shoes, but I can at least cover your feet with some spare cloth. We do not have far to walk, and my people will take care of you.”  
  
He shook his head as he looked at the bottom of her foot. On it was a deep gash where a stone had cut her.   
  
“I have no salve here either. Well, there’s nothing for it; we’ll just have to make do the best we can.”  
  
He wrapped her feet in fabric and tied it around her ankles with some sort of vine. When he had finished, he stood and offered her his hand. He put his arm around her as they walked and she leaned into him for warmth and stability. Iseldir did not push her to talk.   
  
Some time later, she heard clattering and voices and they emerged into a clearing, full of people bustling around and tents and a cookfire right in the middle. Nimueh’s mouth watered at the aroma of cooking food. She had not realized she was hungry until the smoke invoked her senses. Now her stomach rumbled and she felt as though she could eat one hundred rabbits.  
  
She realized Iseldir was speaking to her and she looked at him, trying to form words, but unable to connect them to her tongue. He looked down and saw her hand over her stomach.  
  
“Oh! You are hungry. Come, let us get you clothed and then you may sit and eat. You’ve waited this long for a meal, a few more minutes won’t hurt.”  
  
He guided her to a tent and, crouching down, spoke in a hushed tone to a woman seated on the floor. She smiled at the man and then stood, walking over to Nimueh.  
  
“Child, what is your name?”  
  
Nimueh realized she did not know what her name was. No words came out, but it did not matter; one name would serve just as well as another.   
  
The woman placed her hand on Nimueh’s shoulder and clucked. “Well, ‘tis no matter. We will call you Kara. Come. I have clothes for you and you may use this bed here for as long as you like.”  
  
Nimueh stared at the woman as she handed her a bundle of clothing and the woman realized she had no idea what to do with them. She carefully removed the cloak and worked a shift over her head, helping Nimueh to get her arms through the sleeves. Patiently she worked with Nimueh until she was fully clothed.  
  
“There, now it’s time for supper. Come.” She held out a hand and Nimueh took it, eager for her fill.  
  
She was not disappointed. The stew they served was savory and flavors popped in her mouth as she worked bits of cooked meat between her teeth. Hunger sated, she sat with her eyes closed for a moment, trying to adjust to the shock of being among people again. The sounds from the camp and bustling of people made her legs twitch. Restless, she stood and wandered away from the domesticity and into the forest.  
  
Familiar sounds comforted her as she walked through the forest, soothing her. She walked, letting the memories bubble up. The forest was safe and she could think here. Not caring how much time passed or where she went, she barely noticed the plants and animals. Away from camp, basic needs taken care of, she finally had time to process the memories that had crashed down upon her before Iseldir had found her.  
  
Emotions rose up, swirling around inside her, churning in her gut, raising her gorge and she ran, trying to pound sense into her memories as her feet hit the dirt. When she could run no more, she fell, weeping.  
  
  



	3. Nimueh Meets Mordred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nimeuh and Mordred meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First half of the chapter is from Mordred's POV, second is from Nimueh's.

  
  
The forest had always been a place of refuge for Mordred, even before — he tried to stuff those thoughts away, but they rose again, bringing tears to his eyes, flooding his heart.  
  
Although his mother had died several years ago, her loss still pained him acutely and now with his father abruptly torn from him, Mordred often felt at loose ends. He had taken to spending more and more time in the forest, away from the camp.   
  
Although the druids were his people and cared for him, he did not feel it in his heart. They had taken excellent care of him when he had returned an orphan from Camelot and trained him to use his new power, but he thought they only cared for him with their heads and hands. If he were honest with himself, he had closed his heart and would not have been able to accept their love anyway.  
  
At breakfast, he would ask if anyone needed herbs or firewood or something that would excuse him from the camp and would then proceed to spend the better part of the day amongst the trees and wild animals.   
  
It was peaceful, gathering herbs with his hands and wool with his mind no matter the weather. He often lost track of time, he’d become so absorbed in the process of gathering herbs or precious minerals that needed careful handling.   
  
He was crouched at the base of a tree carefully removing moss, tendril by tendril, from the root it was attached to when an unfamiliar crunching sound penetrated his consciousness. Alert, he did not turn to look just yet. He closed his eyes trying to determine from the sound alone the shape and size of the beast treading through the forest.  
  
When the footsteps turned into a crash, indicating the creature had collapsed, Mordred turned to look. He was unsurprised to see a person in a heap, but shocked to see it was someone unfamiliar. The druids did not live near other people and when visitors came, it was usually pre-arranged.  
  
The sound of crying finally propelled him to move. He left the moss, knowing it would keep, and walked gently over to the prone form. He noticed the small bandaged feet first and  _tsked_  to himself. He looked at the head next, searching for blood that might indicate a head wound and the reason for the collapse. He saw no blood, only a long brown braid escaping the cloak-hood and shaking in time with the girl’s sobs. He felt his armoured heart begin to open.  
  
Kneeling, he put a hand on her shoulder, gently, as he did not want to frighten her.  
  
“Miss, what is wrong?” he said.  
  
She turned her face, looking up at him with wild brown eyes, tears leaking from them. She shook her head, opening her mouth like a gaping fish trying to breath water and only getting air.  
  
Mordred felt another chink fall away.  
  
“I,” he started, “I’m Mordred.” He smiled, trying to encourage the girl in front of him, waiting as though he had all the time in the world. He saw her swallow with a gulp as though talking were a heroic task. She blinked at him and coughed.  
  
“Call me Kara,” she finally said, her voice rough and raspy as though she had not spoken for a very long time.  
  
For some reason that Mordred could not ascertain, nor did he want to, her voice tickled the inner reaches of his heart and he fell in love with her at that moment. He felt joined to her as he had not felt about someone since his father had died. He knew he would do anything for this girl, mad as that idea might have seemed to some.  
  
Mordred sat on the forest floor, waiting.  
  
****  
  
Still raw from the recent deluge of memories, Nimueh looked at this young boy in front of her.  
Power flowed from him, exciting her, stimulating her own power. He was completely open to her, eyes wide and trusting.   
  
“Mordred.” She tasted the name on her tongue. “Why did I not see you at dinner?” she finally asked.  
  
He shrugged. “I often miss meals in the camp. I like it in the forest.”   
  
She noticed how he’d choked on the word  _forest_  and his eyes welled with tears. Nimueh reached out to him, her small hand grasping his, fitting together.  
  
“Are you..” she started. “I mean, what’s wrong?” she tried again.  
  
Mordred shook his head as though he could stop the tears from leaking out if his eyes were moving. He looked away from her, down at the dirt, up into the verdant canopy. Pulling himself together with a ragged breath, he looked at her again. She could see his struggle in the way his eyes darted and his mouth pressed together. Now it was her turn to wait.  
  
With closed eyes, Mordred said softly, “They killed my father.” Tears seeped from closed lids, trailing over dirty cheeks, dripping down onto his tunic.   
  
When no further explanation seemed forthcoming, Nimueh prodded, “Who did, Mordred?”  
  
Mordred balled his fists on his thighs. “The men in Camelot.”  
  
Nimueh froze at this information and then an idea began to spark in her mind, but she knew she would have to tread carefully.   
  
“Which men?” She held her breath.  
  
Mordred opened his eyes, now filled with hatred. “Uther.” His body practically vibrated with suppressed anger.  
  
“What happened?” she whispered.  
  
“My father and I went to Camelot. It was supposed to be a quick trip for supplies that we needed but could only get there.” Mordred brought his hands together, twisting his fingers. “We knew there was a risk; we had heard stories from other druids, but he had gone safely many times.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “This time, the merchant gave us away.” Another shuddering breath and he continued, “We ran. We tried to get away, but they caught my father and killed him.” Tears ran freely down his face.  
  
Nimueh waited, sensing there was more to the story and her patience paid off.  
  
“Kara, do you have magic?” he asked shyly. When she nodded, assuring him she did. He continued.  
  
“Normally a child is born with magic and as he grows, so grows his power. Not all magic users have the same level of skill, or even the same set of skills. There are people who can lift objects and only that, or people who can only talk mind to mind. The most skilled can do many tasks with magic, but even that takes years — a lifetime.   
  
I,” Mordred faltered here, “I was not born with magic.” He ducked his head. “I was a great disappointment to my parents as well as the tribe when it turned out all I could do was talk mind-to-mind.”  
  
Nimueh shook her head, disbelieving. “But Mordred, I feel the power coursing through you.”  
  
“Sometimes, it is believed that a great event will shake loose magic which was previously locked up inside a person. It is the only explanation the great wizard ancestors have been able to ascertain.” Voice thick, he continued, “I guess that’s what happened to me.” He smiled through tears. “It feels like a gift and a curse at the same time.”  
  
“Why is that?”  
  
He shrugged, one shoulder higher than the other. “I now have the legacy from my parents, but no one to guide me properly.” He quickly added, “I mean, Iseldir has been great about teaching me, but I have other duties now and, well, sometimes I should be getting lessons, but there just isn’t anyone around who  _can_  teach me.”  
  
Nimueh reached out, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I can teach you.”  
  
Mordred’s eyes widened and he smiled, full and beaming, eyes twinkling.  
  
Nimueh smiled inside herself, jubilant. She would have her revenge — the tool had just been handed to her on a platter. Mordred would bend to her will like a newgrown sapling to twine. She did not yet know the exact form it would take, but this was a long game and she was willing to wait.


	4. A dragon?

Sunk in his own grief and concentrating on controlling his newfound power, Mordred had no time to question Kara’s ability with magic. He felt, from the bottom of his heart, that the gods must have sent her to him for how else could he explain the serendipity of her arrival and their sympathy for one another?  
  
Mordred stood, clasping a hand to Nimueh’s, and pulled her with him. They stumbled awkwardly for a moment and laughed. Mordred slung his arm around her shoulder and they walked back to camp, navigating the rough terrain in the dark together.  
  
“Ah, Mordred, I see you’ve met Kara,” Iseldir said when they returned to camp. Mordred could not contain his joy. His body was too small a container for it and he felt his face ache with the strain of his smile. Iseldir chuckled.  
  
“Well, you two make a pretty pair. Perhaps you will be good for each other at that,” he said, stroking his chin with a finger. Mordred did not understand the expression on Iseldir’s face until he said, “But you will keep to separate sleeping tents.”  
  
As Mordred nodded, he felt Kara nodding alongside.   
  
“Very well then, young ones, it is late. I have been waiting for your return and now that I know you are safe, I will retire. I recommend that you do so as well. There is always tomorrow.”  
  
Reluctant to let her go so soon, Mordred dragged his feet on the way to Kara’s tent. His father’s death had shown him that people he loved could be ripped away from him in an instant. He did not want to let her go.  
  
Kara, on the other hand, seemed to bubble over with delight. Where she had been shy when they were alone in the forest, now she was talking happily about what they might do on the morrow. Mordred didn’t pay much attention to the content of her words; he tried to enjoy them and not worry too much about what the future might hold.  
  
Sleep had not been a close companion for Mordred since his visit to Camelot and the loss of his father, but tonight, for the first time in many nights, he had happy things to think about and he drifted off quickly.  
  
In the morning, he woke refreshed, eager to start the day. His heart lifted: he was no longer alone. He dressed quickly and stepped outside his tent, looking for Kara.  
  
Iseldir had actually sanctioned Mordred’s desire to spend all day in the forest with Kara. Well, to be honest, what he had said was that Kara could join him on his daily ventures for herbs and other materials and perhaps it would be mutually beneficial. Mordred hadn’t really understood what he might have to teach Kara, but again, he wasn’t inclined to question his luck as events had lately not favored him.   
  
Mordred’s control of magic was inconsistent, due to lack of instruction as well as practice. He had had a couple instances of magic backfiring when someone more experienced was nearby that he had been reluctant to practice on his own. It was one thing to harm oneself during these experiments, another thing entirely to inflame an entire forest, destroying trees and the small creatures who lived there. Mordred shuddered at that thought. He had always loved the way the druids valued all life.  
  
This morning, he and Kara had been tasked with finding mandrake. Mandrake was hard to harvest. First you had to find it and then dig the reluctant plant out of the ground with your hands hoping its screams did not drive you mad before you severed its connection from the mother plant.   
  
So, Mordred was not looking too carefully, hoping that they might actually come home empty handed. He had not collected mandrake for some time, but the memory was enough to deter him from being efficient.  
  
“Oh, Mordred, look!” Kara pointed to a spot on the ground not too distant. He didn’t see anything special and started to shake his head and tell her so when he caught a sparkle amongst the leaves. He gasped.  
  
Standing very still, Mordred looked around. He listened intently for any sign — a certain creaking, or a huffing. Eyes closed, he tried to sense if there was an unnatural breeze or a sulfur fueled fire. He released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and opened his eyes.  
  
“It’s clear. There are no dragons nearby.”  
  
She smiled and they walked over to the glinting dragon scale. Mordred crouched on the forest floor, settling back on one heel that sank a fraction in the soft dirt. For a moment, he just looked at the solitary scale, appreciating its beauty; dark, but luminous. He reached out, slowly, almost afraid to touch it, but unable to stop himself. Dragons were paradox incarnate, a quality which apparently transferred when they came into contact with humans.  
  
Object achieved, he marveled at the smooth surface. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was hard, like pottery, but the sheen on it was greater than that of a horse’s hoof even. Awestruck, he held it out for Kara to see.  
  
“Look, it’s a dragon scale.”  
  
“I know that, foolish boy,” she teased with a grin on her face.  
  
Feeling a bit sheepish, he replied, “Oh, right. Of course. Well, but have you seen one up close? Have you  _held_  one?”  
  
“No,” she told him, eyes wide.  
  
 _Well,_  he thought,  _the joke was on her now, wasn’t it?_


	5. Things come to an end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Nimueh and Mordred were supposed to have some kind of adventure together where Nimueh (as Kara) brought Mordred over to Morgana's side, but I never had the time/energy/drive to figure that bit of the story out.
> 
> This is from Merlin's POV and also the first bit I wrote, which ended up in present tense and I never had time to go back and fix it.

Kara. Kara. That name tumbles around Merlin’s mind. He knows he’s heard it before, but where. As he goes about his duties, he thinks about other things, not Kara, until it comes to him in a snap when he’s elbow deep in warm water washing the king’s laundry. Back aching from the familiar chore, he remembers another Kara all those years ago. As the clothes churn through the water, thoughts tumble in his mind.  
  
Kara had been a pretty serving maid when Bayard had come to court -- when he had drunk the poison for Arthur. Merlin sighs, remembering how pretty she had been and then he remembers that she alone had disappeared from Bayard’s party. He does not know how she came back, but he is certain is the same girl. Jolting upright, laundry forgotten, he runs out of the kitchen, desperate to share his revelation with Arthur, dripping water as he goes.  
  
In the corridor, he comes to his senses. It’s the middle of the night! He can’t talk to Arthur now. Besides, he realizes it’s not actually Arthur’s problem. This might be the key to turning their destinies around. He has just resolved to head to the dungeons when a voice touches his mind.  
  
 _Emrys! Please!_  
  
Merlin shivers as echoes of that plea from eight years ago tug at him. He knows the pain Mordred is feeling, understands better than anyone the agony the young man is going through. Too tired to fight prophecies that cloud his mind, he turns his steps towards the dungeon.  
  
Merlin treads lightly across the stone floor, worn boot soles hardly leaving a sound. His breath catches at the sight of Mordred, curled in upon himself, broken. Silent sobs wrack his slight frame, tears stain his face. Merlin’s heart softens further.  
  
The warlock nods at the guards, who let him pass without comment. This is not the first time he has visited a prisoner.  
  
“Mordred,” Merlin whispers, gripping the bars. Mordred seems too caught up in his own heartbreak to notice Merlin’s presence. Merlin tries again, “Mordred,” a little louder, but to no avail.  
  
His heart twists at Mordred’s agony.  _Mordred_.  
  
Mordred looks up, directly at him, finally noticing him. Relief floods through Merlin.. He can still reach the boy.  
  
Merlin looks at a guard and motions for him to unlock the cell. He slips inside and the key turns, locking them both in, but Merlin barely registers this. He is focused on Mordred. Everything hinges on how Mordred reacts.  
  
Merlin kneels down, grasping Mordred’s rough, chapped hands in his own still damp ones. Mordred looks down at their joined hands and looks back at Merlin, as though he might be at the end of a very long rope that has been thrown into a deep pit.  
  
“Mordred, I think you are not going to like what I am going to tell you.” Merlin pauses, steeling himself, mulling over how he can convey that he is acting in everyone’s best interest. “Can you just listen and think about what I have to say?”  
  
Mordred takes in a wet, snuffly breath and nods. Merlin squeezes Mordred’s hand softly, trying to reassure him through his touch. He inhales, closes his eyes, and then starts.  
  
“I know you think Arthur has betrayed you, but he has not. When I first came to Camelot, almost ten years ago, there was a powerful sorceress who wanted to kill Arthur.” He shakes his head. No that isn’t right. “Wait. She wanted to wreak havoc in the kingdoms, and she wanted to kill me,” he ends sadly.  
  
Confused, Mordred shakes his head. “What does this have to do with me?” he asks, voice husky from crying.  
  
Merlin sits himself on the floor, now, knee to knee with Mordred.  
  
“Mordred, that woman was Kara.”  
  
Merlin can see that this news has left Mordred completely befuddled; he is gaping like a fish. Merlin sympathizes, remembering his own reaction when Gaius had told him Kara was Nimueh  
  
“But, but,” Mordred stammers and blinks, working hard to get words out of his mouth. Now he closes his eyes. Merlin waits. Mordred inhales and opens his eyes.  
  
“You are telling me, that my Kara is the same as this sorceress who threatened Camelot all those years ago? That,” he breaks off, shaking his head, “that just doesn’t make any sense. Kara,  _my_  Kara, was a druid girl. I grew up with her. She was always at my side.”  
  
“When, exactly, did you meet her?” Merlin asks softly.  
  
Look directly at Merlin, he says, “When I was about 10, she moved into our camp. Someone had found her because of her ability to speak mind-to-mind.” He trails off.  
  
Mordred swipes his sleeve across his nose. He opens his mouth and then closes it, hard. His eyes dart back and forth, as though searching for truths in the crevasses of the stone walls while sorting through his own memories.   
  
“You believe me, now, don’t you?”  
  
Mordred nods slowly, eyes brimming with tears again. Voice cracking, he says, “I thought she was the other half of my heart. I’m truly alone now.”  
  
Merlin reaches out, wrapping his arms around Mordred, who is softly weeping now.  
  
“How could I have been so stupid? All this time, she’s been using me and I was on the verge of betraying Arthur and you and...”  
  
“Shhh. Shhh. I’m here. Nothing has happened yet.”  
  
Mordred grabs at Merlin’s sleeve. “Please, don’t leave.”  
  
Merlin wrestles with his conscience. He knows that Arthur will be expecting him at the execution, but he feels a stronger duty to stay with Mordred. Maybe this is his destiny. Maybe he can still save Arthur.  
  
“I’m not leaving, Mordred. We will wait until Arthur comes down to fetch us.”  
  
Merlin does not let go of Mordred, even when Kara’s life slips from her as the platform is jerked from underneath her. He does not let go when Mordred screams, despite himself, and blows the hinges off the door. He does not let go when Arthur approaches and puts his hands out to the men huddled on the cold floor together.  
  
When Arthur pulls them up and takes them both into his strong arms, Merlin is glad that Arthur seems to understand he’s necessary.  
  
“I am so sorry, Mordred,” Arthur whispers, tears breaking his voice. “Come, let us comfort you, as best we can.”  
  
Later, Merlin turns to Arthur and whispers, “How did you know?”  
  
“Merlin, did you really think I would not notice your absence at the execution?”  
  
Merlin smiles. “Of course not, sire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the notes I had about the story:
> 
> After Merlin kills Nimueh, she evaporates, dissociates, whatever you want to call it, but as you recall, she had the power over life and death (or whatever nonsense they say). So, it takes her time, but she can reform. 
> 
> So, the plan is, she is vaporized, then comes back together and now, more than ever, she wants revenge on Merlin. But she’s got a very long game in mind. What if she’s the reason Mordred ends up going to Morgana?
> 
> She turns into a girl, Kara, and puts herself in a situation where she will be noticed and recruited.
> 
> Mordred notices her right away, notices how shy she is and he is also attracted to her, like a moth to flame. He can feel her power and it excites him and soothes him. They spend all their free time together, exploring the limits of their power (or so he thinks) and they talk and whatever. (I don’t actually see their relationship as sexual. It’s almost too intimate for that.)
> 
> Mordred goes to Camelot and loses his father and almost his own life and when he returns, Kara starts her campaign. Then, Morgana shows up in camp and that’s when Kara begins really nurturing Mordred’s relationship with Morgana and planting the seeds in Morgana’s mind that she should have the crown and get rid of Arthur. 
> 
> After Merlin and Arthur come after Morgana, Kara convinces Mordred to run away. She teaches him how to hide his powers and grooms him for the right moment, which happens when Morgana starts making slaves out Camelot’s knights, with Kara/Nimueh behind everything. 
> 
> Kara tells Mordred that he has to go out there on his own. That it’s his destiny to pair up with Morgana, but when Mordred actually meets Arthur, it’s love at first sight (well, second). He has hearts in eyes for the man who helped set him free in Camelot. He sees that Merlin distrusts him right off, but doesn’t understand why and doesn’t really care, after Morgana flips her lid. Mordred doesn’t want anything to do with crazy people (nevermind that Nimueh isn’t sane either). So, he stabs her and helps Arthur get free, because he’s completely in love.
> 
> Arthur seems fond of him too, and shows his gratitude by knighting him. Things are going along swimmingly, until Kara shows up, having raided Camelot with a group that Morgana sent over at her urging.
> 
> NTS: Kara puts Mordred on this path to ally with Morgana and all is going swimmingly, until Mordred falls in love with Arthur. Then she knows she has to reappear in his life and screw everything up.
> 
> Mordred wants to protect her, but she’s found out. Then, Arthur wants to execute her, Mordred pleads for her life, innocent as to who she really is, Arthur tries, she won’t back down (of course, because she’s Nimueh) and he executes her. Finally, h/c scene here with NC17 scene in there for padding, of course.
> 
> (Also, think about throughline: keys/doors/locks also hearts and loneliness/belonging. Remember, you like stories about identity, relationships, and destiny. What is everyone’s destiny here?) (also, saw this on daily prompt on DW and it seemed relevant -- Without you, I was lost.)  
> Also: What if you don’t choose magic? What if it chooses you?
> 
> New/further notes: what if Mordred never uses magic? What if he comes to love Kara, but still feels loyal to Arthur for saving his life and never uses magic? Maybe the reason it took him so long to get back to Arthur is that Kara was tugging him one way. What if Mordred doesn’t have magic until Nimueh gives it him as his father dies? 0.o.
> 
> What if magic chooses you in different ways: Arthur was born of magic; Merlin was born with it. They are drawn together by magic — love the idea that Arthur is the key to magic Merlin’s magic more/better/powerful and that he affects Merlin to be good. Mordred is the catalyst, somehow.
> 
>  
> 
> Think about Mordred’s connection to Morgana. Could her connection be what awakens the magic in him, but his connection to Arthur is what keeps him on the straight path?


End file.
